


Laughing with a Mouth of Blood

by ivyleagueLT



Series: Running From the Streetlights [1]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Drug Addiction, Implied Drug Use, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyleagueLT/pseuds/ivyleagueLT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walt could have screamed, he could have gotten right up into Ray’s face and called him weak, or a coward. He could have told him that he was pathetic, that he was just like all the rest who would rather fall from the third floor instead of the penthouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughing with a Mouth of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Literally, I wrote this in about 45 minutes. I do apologize for any mistakes that I may have missed in the three times I reviewed it. I have had Florence + The Machine's "No Light, No Light" stuck in my head for the past week and I have had a bummer of a week so I made the characters suffer with me. So, song fic. This is my first one of those ever as well. Also the title is taken from St. Vincent's song by the same name. Also, there is a Suits reference, if you watch the show you will catch it, it's subtle (only not really).

**_You want a revelation; you are to get it right. But it’s a conversation I just can’t have tonight._ **

The shouting match had reached a fever pitch. The past three hours had been nothing but increasingly stony glances and dangerous criticisms spoken with low tones and vicious growls. This was nothing new to Walt, the way Ray would be doing fine and then suddenly fall off the bandwagon without any warning. But he was damn sure that this would be the last time that he would be around to watch it happen.

The argument had spiraled out of control when Walt mentioned Ray’s unfailing ability to bullshit his way out of admitting to having to done anything wrong. Walt just wanted to hear Ray say it; he wanted him to admit that he fucked up. That the reason things between the two of them were shitty was all Ray’s fault. Instead all Walt heard was Ray sputtering around the truth, making up excuse after excuse to explain away why he did what he did; he was pressured into it, bullshit; he didn’t realize it would spiral out of control, bullshit. That wasn’t what Walt wanted; he wanted the truth, for once.

&

**_You are the hole in my head. You are the space in my bed. You are the silence in between what I thought and what I said._ **

Walt could have screamed, he could have gotten right up into Ray’s face and called him weak, or a coward. He could have told him that he was pathetic, that he was just like all the rest who would rather fall from the third floor instead of the penthouse. He could have even taken a swing at Ray to really let him know how he felt. Walt could have done all of these things and more, but instead he let the silence slowly eat away at Ray. Of course immediately after it happened Walt had torn Ray a new asshole the size of Texas and then some but he knew Ray and he knew that he would never respond to blatant anger. Ray was the type of person that you needed to let the anger simmer underneath the skin for. Make it obvious that you wanted nothing more than to run him through with a knife for how fucking stupid he was with subtle cues.

It started at night. Normally Walt would be the first in bed, dozing in and out of consciousness, waiting for Ray to finish up whatever book he was reading or piece of art he was working on. Instead Walt started staying up later, avoiding their bedroom. Sure he suffered a little in the morning, had to drink an extra cup or two of coffee during the day to keep from wanting to find a nice quiet corner in the back of the bookstore he worked at and just sleep for a bit. By the time Walt would finally not be able to fight sleep any longer; Ray would already be in bed, far away from Walt’s side and unsuccessfully feigning sleep.

The first time, Walt almost caved when he saw how slight Ray looked in their giant bed, all alone and cold without Walt’s body wrapped completely around him, nearly suffocating him with the way he pressed Ray’s body down into the bed. But Walt fought down the desire to pull Ray into his arms and call him a dumb fucking hick and that he was sorry he yelled at him and he just loved Ray so fucking much that he wouldn’t watch him do this to himself anymore. Instead Walt climbed into his side of the bed, tucked his arms around his pillow, and fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

&

**_No light, no light in your bright blue eyes. I never knew daylight could be so violent. A revelation in the light of day, you can’t choose what stays and what fades away._ **

About three days in to their fight, Walt awoke that to a cold bed, and an even colder apartment. He stretched his left arm out instinctually to Ray’s side of the bed, finally it surprisingly chilled. That’s when he realized that he didn’t notice the tell-tale signs of coffee brewing or the sounds of Ray shuffling around his supplies he left laying out before going to bed.

The idea of leaving their room and finding Ray gone was enough to cause Walt to choke out a sob into the empty space. He could feel his heart breaking inside his chest and he had barely opened his eyes. Losing Ray wasn’t an option in his book, he was going to do something about this whether Ray hated him for it or not.

Walt had to nearly throw himself from the bed; feeling pinned down by the weight of this shit storm Ray had brought on, and dragged himself out into the living room of their apartment only to find Ray sitting on the couch with everything laid out on the table in front of him, literally. He came to stand on the opposite side of the coffee table from Ray, not sparing a downward glance at the things that stood between them, looking down at his boyfriend like the first time he had seen him, with a mix of confusion and hope.

Ray couldn’t bear to look up at Walt and see the look in his eyes, afraid that he had given up on him completely and that all he would find would be the beautiful blue eyes he fell in love with so hard looking back at him with nothing but disdain and regret. He all but forced himself to look up before he spoke.

“I need help.”

&

**_Would you leave me, if I told you what I’ve done? And would you need me, if I told you what I’ve become? ‘Cause it’s so easy, to say it to a crowd. But it’s so hard, my love to say it to you out loud._ **

Walt wanted so badly to leap across the table and tackle Ray back into the couch and just hold him while they both sobbed, but he couldn’t, not yet. Ray still had to admit to what he had done. Walt instead crossed his arms over his chest, digging his nails into the skin of his forearms deep enough that he could feel the skin tearing beneath his fingertips. “Ray,” he started but stopped dead once Ray interrupted him.

“I fucked up Walt! Goddamit, I fucked up so bad. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Walt.” The words poured from Ray’s lips freely, Walt could see him being visibly liberated with every word he spoke. “I just, I can’t stop Walt. I know that I’m no good and that I’ll always end up fucking up in the end so I just figure why not get it out of the way now before I actually get some modicum of control over my life and have to watch it tailspin out of control again. I can’t go through that, I won’t put you through that again.”

Walt was around the table before Ray had even finished his speech. He gathered Ray up in his arms, effectively ending everything he was going to say next. “Fucking stop, Ray. Just fucking stop talking.”

&

**_Through the crowd, I was crying out. And in your place there were a thousand other faces. I was disappearing in plain sight. Heaven help me, I need to make it right._ **

It was decided that Brad and Nate would drive Ray to the airport; God knows Walt wouldn’t have been able to drive there without breaking down; he would never make it home if he had to go alone. There was so much that was still left unsaid between the two of them; it hung in the air above them as they sat on the bed in their room, Ray’s head in Walt’s lap and Walt running his fingers through Ray’s thick hair. Neither one said that they would miss each other or that they loved each other but it was unspoken at this point. Walt had told Ray to call him as soon as he could and to let him know the first available weekend that they would allow Ray to have visitors.

Brad sounded his horn outside and it broke through the silence in the dark room like a gunshot. The thought of letting go of each other was nerve-racking, they were about to lose a part of their heart, their soul. But they both understood that this was something they both needed to do.

Ray stood, pulling Walt up with him. They stared at each other for a long moment before Ray leaned into Walt’s space, kissing him hard on lips for what was much too short of a time before turning without a word and leaving.

Walt stayed rooted to the spot, the ghost of Ray still lingering here in the room, on his lips. He wasn’t quite ready just yet to let him go.


End file.
